It's 11:22p.m. so half an hour till tomorrow. I'm leaving for my flight around 4-5-ish p.m. tomorrow. I can feel the aching of the start of an attack in my chest, my lungs. The feeling of every breath, the five second strain from lack of air. The levels of air in my lungs. I just want to stay fucked up till I leave. And then I have to handle myself as best as possible. Falling apart will stop my implosive bursts, but I can't allow myself to break. Stay strong, she says. Stop being a fuckin pussy, she says. Man the fuck up, she says. Loud 'n' clear, but unseen, her voice haunts me. Be dominant, stop being a cunt. You're an Internet whore, knock it off. What about her? What about them? she says. Remember your soulmate? Where's your loyalty, liar? What about the promises you made? Be quiet! I scream in my head and she breaks me down again. So I started smoking and drinking, and she's quiet now! Leah is finally silent and it's so amazing, and relaxing. But I feel the buzz fading and my lungs struggle to intake air. Sober, I'm not ready. Let me poison myself a little longer, self medicate and self control. Control. Control.
~P. Luti - 11:38 p.m.
YOU ARE READING
The Partial Journal of Kona Firestar
AcakIn this I write my emotions. Journal entries, how my day went, my poetry (and maybe a few others). Some of you might notice song quotes intertwined with a few entries or poems. That is because some songs inspire me. So go ahead and read this. I'll p...
